


last call

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bars and Pubs, Bartenders, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Professors, if it’s not broke..., this is just a twist on my same fluff formula
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Professor Jon Snow gets quite a surprise when Dany starts working at his local pub— she’s beautiful, funny, and sweet— and totally out of his league.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 75
Kudos: 554





	last call

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Kit and Emilia for the pictures which inspired the moodboard which inspired this fic. I don’t know what is going on but it has been angst central in the Jonerys fandom lately and THIS WILL NOT STAND. I hate angst. Enjoy some fluff.

* * *

_  
The Lone Wolf_ bar had been a staple in Winterfell for gods knew how many years. Probably centuries. It probably started off as some brothel, expanded itself into a drink tavern, and ultimately became the place where many lost souls went to drown their sorrows or bad days, or a place where couples went to celebrate, friends partied, and students from the nearby Queen Alysanne’s University tried to sneak their fake IDs by the watchful eye of longtime proprietor Davos Seaworth.

It was the one place where Jon Snow could escape after a particularly stressful staff meeting, a rather draining lecture, or to hide from giggling co-eds trying to flash their tits at him in the hopes he would give them a good grade on their abysmal history essays. It was the place where he first had his first—legal—drink of ale, celebrated defending his dissertation, washed glasses in the back after school, and went to sit and have a whiskey most Fridays during term.

He usually came in through the back entrance; a holdover from when he used to work there and was even manager for a brief time, but today he found it locked, which was a little odd. He went around to the front, nodding to his cousin Robb, who was walking down the sidewalk towards him. “Long day?” he asked. They were set to meet there anyway; Jon had essays to grade and also needed to work on his latest research article, but when he got the text from his cousin that he _needed_ an ale, he put it off to join him.

Robb made a face, holding open the door. “Arya decided to drop a bomb on Mom that she was _not_ going to come to the Feast of Seven banquet, which got Sansa all angry, and I of course was the one they all complained to and when I even dared to suggest Arya actually sit this one out, suddenly I’m the villain and Father is calling me into his office for a lecture of family values and the pack and all.”

Their lives were almost the same, had been from birth. The irony of it was Jon was born to Ned Stark’s sister, which gave him far more leeway in his choices in life. Robb, unfortunately, was destined for the family business and as a result he had to play a part. “You do need a drink,” he said, following him into the bar.

They froze, staring at the worn, ancient stretch of shiny oak taking up most of the cramped space. It was always dark in the pub, small tables and booths with little lamps to provide amber glow, and the flash of the flatscreens on the walls showing football and rugby matches providing further ambient lighting. It was the beautiful carved oak wall behind the bar that was the showstopper, with wolves snarling and dragons flying, depicting a scene from the Northern history—allegedly the destruction of a zombie ice king—Jon loved it as it was his entire reason for his chosen career path, while Robb just thought it was fun to look at while drunk.

The random bottles of liquor and alcohol rose and fell on scattered shelves around the wall carving, with lights focused on them, a shiny kaleidoscope of colors. It was really quite beautiful; glasses glinting from the various shelves and hangings above the bar itself almost served as little twinkle lights. Davos or Tormund—a massive redheaded wildling man with a beard that rivaled Father Winter—were always behind the bar.

Except tonight.

“Who is she?” Robb whispered, immediately suspicious. He squinted. “Think she’s Tormund’s?”

“No way in fucking seven hells is she with Tormund.” Tormund went more for women who were bigger than him and he had no chance with. He could not see him even daring to approach the tiny woman who was pouring a drink at the end of the bar. Plus, it would just not be fair if Tormund managed to snag someone as beautiful as she happened to be.

Silver hair, braided and tangled back from her face, dusting her exposed shoulder blades in the red tank-top she wore, which clung to her trim little frame and stopped just above the waist of her jeans, which molded around a perfectly plump arse, strong thighs, and ended in heavy Doc Martens. She wore a couple of bracelets cuffed around her wrists and a silver necklace with some kind of small charm dangled when she leaned over to refill someone’s glass.

The move did not go unnoticed by either of them, but Robb was married and averted his eyes instantly. Jon was not married, and while he was a gentleman who looked away quickly so he didn’t appear to be a perve, he also didn’t miss the black lacy cup of a bra peeking out of the ‘v’ of her tank.

She said something to one of the old timers, Jorah, who looked ready to keel over at the fact someone as beautiful as she was happened to be laughing at his jokes. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and he spied a tattoo on her inner wrist. He swallowed hard, wondering what it was. “Who is she?” Robb whispered again.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You know everything, you’re the professor.”

“Of history, you dumb fuck.” And a museum curator, he felt like adding, since he tended to like that aspect of his job more than teaching the undergrads and holding the hands of the graduate students.

“Shut the damn door lads, you’re letting out the heat,” a voice called.

Robb let go of the door immediately. He walked over to the bar, hopping onto a stool, and glared at Davos, nodding towards the woman. “Who is she?”

“Daenerys,” Davos said, gesturing to the side. The woman glanced over at the call of her name. He moved to them. “I want you to meet two regulars, including one who might know this bar better than me. Robb Stark and Jon Snow.”

“ _Doctor_ Jon Snow,” a voice teased nearby. Jon scowled; it was Jeor Mormont, Jorah’s father, the Old Bear, who had been something of a mentor to him and never let him get by without always using his title. He pounded a meaty fist on the bar. “He spent years working on it, he gets to use it!”

Davos teased. “Fine, fine, _Doctor_ Jon Snow.” He chuckled, nodding to the woman. “Daenerys is someone I know from my time down south in the Crownlands. She…”

“Would like to know what you want to drink?” the woman, Daenerys, asked. She cut off Davos, who shot her a peculiar look, and smiled gently. In the light, he could see she had strange colored eyes, but he couldn’t tell exactly what color. They looked clear, almost translucent.

“Ale please,” Robb ordered.

He felt like a dumbarse, but swallowed hard, trying not to stare at her. _She’s so pretty_. The closer he was he could see her features were very fine, but she had lines in the corners of her eyes from smiling or laughing. “Whiskey,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Coming right up.”

His stupid cousin leaned over the bar, like it was some big secret. “Who is she Davos? You never hire anyone new!”

Davos chuckled. “She’s…” He shrugged. “She’s someone who wanted to come up here for a bit, I gave her a job. Be nice lads, aye?” He pushed away and went to the back, whistling.

 _She’s the best thing that ever happened here_ , he thought stupidly, allowing the brief moment of frivolity before it faded, his cousin’s complaining bringing him back to the ground.

A moment later, their drinks were in front of them. Robb thanked her and tried to engage her in conversation; he was the one who always got whatever he wanted. He could charm anyone and everything. Maybe it was just his cousin’s way of things, but he’d always hidden off to the side, nervous and ready to throw up if a girl even looked at him when they were kids. It wasn’t that bad as an adult, but he certainly wasn’t one who could flirt or charm. There were times where Jon even wondered _how_ exactly he had even had two serious relationships.

It was therefore a momentous occasion when Robb’s patented toothy white smile, twinkling blue eyes, and a flick of his auburn curls did _not_ work on a member of the opposite sex. This was someone who had even gotten their friend Theon’s lesbian sister Yara to admit that Robb was the only man for whom she would ever question her sexuality. He wore it like a badge of honor. There were times where his wife Margaery even seemed to derive some sort of perverse pleasure in knowing that _everyone_ wanted her husband.

Except Daenerys.

He let Robb vent a bit after that moment. She politely maneuvered out of the conversation, and returned to the regulars, to the actual running of the bar. She moved fluidly, like she was accustomed to the job, maybe she’d been one down south. He chewed on a stir stick; Robb was complaining about something his wife was now having him do at home to ensure their kids were getting the most attention from each of them. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, but sensed he probably should stop, so he turned to the side, to focus on Robb and ignore the woman who was the first and only one he had truly felt drawn to; he wasn’t sure what it was.

Maybe it was the silver hair shining, the purple eyes—he finally got the color of them when she moved to refill Robb’s drink—twinkling, or the strong muscles in her arms cording each time she hefted a tray of glasses or a case of beer bottles. Only one time did he see where she might have struggled, her fingers shaking a little on the neck of a bottle of gin as she measured out the ounces necessary for a vesper.

He frowned; _shouldn’t a bartender know how to make one of those?_ He didn’t think much of it again when she finished and handed the drink over to one of the tourists who had ordered the thing. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, offering a tiny smile. He gave one in return, ducking his head and swallowing back the reminder of his whiskey.

There were papers to grade.

“Sorry mate, gotta’ go.”

“But I’m not done yet!”

“Too bad, tell Marge you’re sorry for whatever you did. I’m out.” He threw down some bills to cover his drink, with a good tip for the new bartender. He lifted his fingers to wave her. “Bye Daenerys.”

“Dany.”

He turned his head quickly, midway in zipping up his jacket. “Huh?”

The little smile returned; her voice quiet. “Dany. You can call me Dany.”

_Dany._

* * *

  
“Whiskey?”

He didn’t even have to ask anymore; after the third visit, it seemed Dany had the whiskey ready to go when he arrived at the bar. Jon nodded, taking his seat at his usual stool at the end of the bar. He accepted the drink, lifting it to her. “Thanks,” he mumbled over the rim of the short glass.

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t move away, standing in place on the other side, cutting up garnishes. She cleared her throat; the movement made the little charm on her silver necklace lift on her collarbone, where it sat askew on the chain. “Long day?”

“You could say that. It’s finals time.”

“And you’re a hardass?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, but maybe ask my students.”

Dany smiled, eyes sparkling, lifting up. “Well since some of them do frequent this bar, I will have to ask them just that.”

“They shouldn’t be frequenting the bar,” he laughed. Most of them were undergraduates. He honestly didn’t really care. So long as they didn’t complain to him when they got bad grades. He wrinkled his nose briefly. “I mostly do the teaching because it’s expected at the university.”

The last few weeks, popping into the bar, he’d come into a bit of a rapport with Dany. She _never_ spoke of her personal life, while he was normally very guarded in that area. It ended up being mostly perfunctory answers on weather, work, and occasionally the local flair. Tormund tried to harass her in a way that would get him fired anywhere else, just once, she said. He now seemed to be somewhat in love with the tiny woman, trailing after her like a big red puppy. Davos refused to expand upon why he hired her, saying that was her business. So they ended up talking a lot about the North, being that she was a newcomer to the strange, insular province, in so many ways different from the rest of Westeros’s seven provinces.

She cocked her head; the move made one of the complicated braids in her hair sway, knocking over her bare shoulder. Most of the time she wore tanks with chambray shirts thrown over or the occasional worn army jacket. He supposed she got hot quickly in the tiny, stifling place. The couple times he’d brushed her fingers with his, taking the glass from her, she’d been warm. Southern blood, he supposed.

“So why do you work there?” she asked.

“The museum.” It was kind of his baby. He smiled briefly. “I used to be in the military.”

Silver eyebrows arched up. “Yeah? How’d you get to be a professor?”

“The Westerosi Post Military Education Bill.” He rolled his eyes; not that he needed it, but it helped him a little since at the time he couldn’t get into most of his trust fund. He shrugged. “I was stationed at the Wall. Lots of history there. I’ve always liked it. Ended up getting a degree in it and then what? I wanted to work at the museum, with a lot of the relics. Found some of them in my service up North.”

“That’s really cool. I love that stuff.” She reached to her necklace, tugging it and leaning forward. He swallowed hard; her bra was red today. “See this? Dragon tooth.”

He forced himself not to grab it and yank, choking her. He started to touch, but hesitated, meeting her gaze. “May I?”

“Hmm, please.”

He touched it lightly; it was worn black. He hadn’t realized that’s what the charm was. “Wow,” he murmured. It was probably a baby dragon tooth, or one of the inner rows of teeth. He let go, allowing her to step backwards. “That’s impressive. Where’d you get it?”

“Family thing.”

The only family he knew associated with dragons were the Targaryens. Her name was Valyrian, her features certainly were, and she was from the South. He smiled politely. “Family, huh?”

“Hmm.”

“Dany!” someone called from down the way.

He tried not to notice the relief in her eyes. She pushed away from the bar, going to see what was going on down at the end. He watched her for a few minutes more, finished his drink, and left, just as the bar was getting busy. He didn’t realize until he got home that he’d left because she couldn’t stand and talk to him all night.

 _You’re a fool Jon Snow. Knock it off._ He sighed, going into his study and drawing a few old books to him, to start working. Might as well take his mind off the cute bartender at the local watering hole.

* * *

  
“Bloody fuck… _bugger_!”

The stream of curses greeted him upon entry to the bar, surprised to see how bloody _busy_ it happened to be. There was practically no available table or booth space, and people were bellied straight up to the bar, leaning over and trying to _help_ Tormund and Dany with the drinks. He caught sight of Tormund’s glare at someone and wondered just what exactly had happened.

He moved to the edge, pushing between a couple of people with t-shirts that proclaimed some family reunion, and thanked the Old Gods his family had never forced him to do such a thing. He shouted to be heard over the music and the raucous yells from the groups staring up at the televisions and in the corner with the dart board. “What’s going on?” he wondered.

“Fucking tourists,” Tormund complained.

He also figured the massive group of tourists had coincided with the semifinals of the Westeros Cup, the Winterfell Wolves in the semis for the first time in decades. He sighed; they were playing Highgarden United. Everyone knew they didn’t have a chance against Casterly, since Tywin Lannister bought his team and the referees with them. He frowned over at Dany, who was struggling to ice a series of glasses, nodding to her. “She alright?”

“First big night for her.”

It had been a few months since she showed up in the bar, he couldn’t really believe that, but when someone went flying sideways into him, knocking him into the wall, he realized aye, she hadn’t quite seen the chaos going on at the moment there. He took his whiskey glass, just as she dropped a bunch of ice cubes on the floor. He winced. “Need some help?” he hadn’t gotten behind the bar in a while but didn’t think Davos would mind.

“Drink up Crow, might need you later.” Tormund winked. “Still got that left hook?”

As he’d used it on Tormund a couple times, he chuckled. “Aye.”

The evening went on; he wasn’t sure why he’d appeared. It had been a long day, rather stressful even, and he wanted to just relax. Silly him for not realizing the semis were going on. He was more stressed than he thought, forgetting about his Wolves. He didn’t get a chance to speak with Dany, she was constantly moving up and down the bar, tossing drinks to people, barely glancing his direction.

Until she struggled again to make one of the more complicted drinks, cursing under her breath again. “One ounce or two?” she mumbled; he barely heard her, but saw her flicking the measuring cup in her fingers, staring at the gin in her hand. She nibbled her lower lip, purple eyes darting around nervously.

“Two,” he said, leaning forward, as quiet as he could be and have her still hear.

She shot him a look. “Two?”

“Two gin, one vermouth. It’s two to one, but…” He chuckled, nodding to the bottle in her fingers. “That’s some heavy proof gin. One ounce of gin, half ounce of vermouth. They won’t notice.”

“Trust me.”

Their eyes locked, just for a moment, and his spine tingled, warmth swooping into his belly. He looked away, staring into his drink, and lifted it up to his mouth, draining the rest. He swallowed hard; too hard, it burned, and his eyes watered immediately. She smiled, super quick, and dumped the contents into the shaker. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He was about to say no problem, to just put the drink on his tab, and he’d go home and finish watching the game there, when clattering and banging broke the moment, everyone turning to the corner, where apparently a group of the tourists had begun fighting, one wearing a Highgarden jersey, the other a Casterly jersey, and a few Wolves tossed in for good measure.

“Oi!” Tormund bellowed, reaching under the bar to grab the bat he kept. He’d tried to convince Davos to allow him an axe, but Davos said a bat was good enough. Jon moved to join, to try to split it up, but to his absolute shock—and Tormund’s—tiny little Dany leaped over the bar, boots slamming on the hard ground, and marched towards them.

In some language he did not understand, she shouted, and muscled her way in. A couple of well-placed knees and elbows, and everyone was separated, the little woman blowing frizzy silver hairs out of her eyes, pale cheeks flushed. “Out!” she bellowed. The volume from such a small creature had stunned the group. She pushed them to the door, demanding payment _now_ for their drinks.

They paid quickly, mumbling again, and the bar was quiet, everyone staring. She whipped her head around, piercing purple eyes landing on everyone. “Anyone else think of throwing a punch, I’m _right here_! Otherwise, drink your drinks, and get out.” Her accent was heavy, and he finally placed it. She stormed toward the bar again, mumbling in the same language she’d shouted, and he finally was able to place it.

 _Valyrian_.

Daenerys had become even more interesting to him with that bit of information. _Who is she?_ , he wondered, staring after her. “Wow,” he murmured.

Tormund had heart eyes, shooting straight out towards her. “Yes Crow, wow.” He glanced sideways, chuckling. He knocked is knuckles on the bar. “Wipe that look off your face.”

“What look?”

“She’s outta’ your league Crow.”

 _Yes, she is, but damn._ Jon tried to drink out of his empty glass, too stunned to realize he’d even finished. He sighed, smiling to himself, and caught Dany’s eyes. She gave him another little smile, and quickly looked away, busying herself with tidying.

* * *

  
“I’m boring you.”

It had been about twenty minutes of him trying to explain the frustrations of his day, trying to restore an antique Valyrian steel sword, while also fending off his dean and assorted crazy family members. It was the sort of day that ended with him at the pub, in his usual seat, with his whiskey. He would never have gone off like he had; it wasn’t quite him to be as talkative as he’d been, but there was _something_ about Dany that when she’d asked if he wanted to tell her about his day, he’d just kind of gone off.

She glanced to him, fiddling with the cap on a bottle of vodka, smiling quickly. “You’re not boring me at all.”

The vacant expression she’d been giving him suggested otherwise. He chuckled, nervous again. “Sorry, I just…I’ll stop.”

“No, please, continue.” It didn’t matter any longer. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, catching her attention. She cocked her head a little; one of the tiny braids pinned back came loose. There was a silver clip on the end of it. “Why don’t you waer contacts more?”

His cheeks warmed a little beneath his beard. He scratched it; a nervous tic Robb told him. “Ah…contacts?”

“Yeah, sometimes you wear glasses, sometimes contacts. Just wondering when you choose to wear the glasses.” She poured some of the vodka into a mixer, setting it aside and reaching for another bottle of something red.

“Do you not like the glasses?”

She shook her head, laughing. “No, it’s not that, just wondering.” She pressed her lips into a tight smile, her eyes crinkling. “I wear glasses sometimes…for reading.”

 _Oh gods._ He tried to black out that image in his mind; it was almost too cute and sexy for words. Or for his psyche. He swallowed hard. “Um, I just don’t’ really like sticking my finger in my eye, but…” He shrugged. “I also…well it’s stupid.” The reasoning for why he didn’t always wear glasses was a bit vain and certainly made him feel arrogant.

“I’m sure it isn’t. Tell me.”

After a little bit more cajoling on her part, he relented. “Fine, well…it’s the professor thing.” Now he was bright pink, trying not to look at her. She stared at him, her lips in a little smirk and her eyebrows lifting, waiting for his explanation. He sighed; she was a master at this, he’d learned. Getting people to talk when they didn’t want to. Meanwhile he still had no idea about her beyond the fact she was from the Crownlands, spoke Valyrian, and was tied to dragons. Not even her last name yet. He took off his glasses, wiping them on the corner of his button-down. “It’s just…I wear the glasses and stuff and people think they…well they don’t really…” He chuffed. “They don’t quite _pay attention._ ”

“Coeds?” she giggled.

He rolled his eyes; at least she found it as silly as he did. “Aye. Professor Snow, oh Professor Snow, that sort of thing. It’s just easier if I…if I don’t look like how I’d want to be.” Robb said he had the fashion sense of a teenage boy. Maybe he did. He sighed. “So I dress up more than I want, I wear the contacts…but lately they’ve given me headaches, so I stopped.”

“You want to know what I think?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Dany set down the vodka she’d been messing with and placed her hands on the edge of the bar, elbows pushing in slightly. The action caused the dragon tooth charm to rise on the swell of her breast, which was today in a purple bra. Her tank she’d gotten rid of for a V-neck tee and was wearing a large men’s flannel over top. “I think you need to not give a fuck what people think about you.”

 _Whoa._ She spoke with quiet conviction, violet eyes shining in the flashing lights from one of the televisions, and the amber glow of the sconce beside his head. He didn’t move to drink; he was stunned. He blinked. “I…I don’t care…”

“No you do, but you try not to.” She smiled briefly. “Call it a bartender thing, I guess, but I can see it. You’re good at blending in Jon Snow.”

“Had to be,” he retorted. It was part of his position in life. Made him like the military and then the academic world. Sitting with his relics in the museum or researching ancient history.

“Me too.” She took a deep breath, glancing down at her hands. She always wore a series of rings, knuckles glittering with silver and gold. Her thumb moved over, rubbing slightly at the ring she wore on her right index finger. “You don’t want people to think of you as the professorial sort, to get the attention that gains, but you are a professor. You like wearing your glasses, wear them. You like wearing t-shirts and trainers, do it.” She chuckled, pushing to prop her elbows on the bar, head going to rest in her palm. “Be Dr. Jon Snow, in all his glory, whatever that means. Who cares what they think?”

He stared at her, straight through, and wondered if that’s why she was here, instead of wherever she came from. If it was because she didn’t care what anyone thought. He smiled gently; he never cared what people thought, aye, but she was damn right. He hid in the shadows; he always had. “Good advice,” he whispered. He reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet, unearthing a few bills to cover his drinks for the last few days. HE set them on the counter and pushed back, slinging it on and shrugging it over his shoulders. “Thanks Dany. I won’t keep you.”

“You’re not keeping me at all. Sit. Here, test this drink. I’m _experimenting_. I call it Wildfire.” She set a drink in front of him, from whatever she’d been tinkering with while talking.

He hesitated; he should go. He frowned and sat back down, keeping his eyes on hers as he lifted the martini glass up, studying the neon green inside. “It’s not poison, is it?”

“No,” she laughed.

“You know Northerners just kind of like ale and whiskey.”

“Yeah, I know, this is for the coeds.”

He winced. “You start leeting them in here more often and I’ll have to find another watering hole.”

Dany grinned. “Just try it.”

 _here it goes._ He took a sip, barely, and instantly started choking. He almost dropped the glass, had Dany not grabbed it from the air, and rushed to get him some napkins as he coughed. Eyes watering and nose stuffy, he coughed a few more times. “Oh gods! Seven hells woman, what is it that!?”

She hung her head sheepishly. “Um, vodka, gin, melon liqueur, melon vodka…” She picked up a bottle, giggling. “And rum.”

“No wonder it tastes like sugary turpentine.”

“Guess I should keep working on it, huh?”

It was his turn to look sheepish. “Maybe um, switch tactics?”

“I’ve got another I’m calling Dragonfire.”

“And what’s in that?”

Dany winked, turning in a circle, wiggling her fingers in a little dance. “It’s a secret. But you can be my tester.”

“Okay.” _Gods Snow, you’re such a fool._ He pushed back from the bar, eyes still watering a bit. “I think I’ll walk home. That was strong.”

“See you around,” she called, soft.

He leaned against the door, nodding. _”Maybe I’ll see you at dinner? Tomorrow night? We could go out…”_ The various ways to twist what she’d said into a suave invite to see her beyond the confines of the bar fell silent on his tongue. He wasn’t Robb. He sighed, nodded, and chose to say nothing. He turned to leave, wondering if the flicker he’d seen across her face was disappointment.

Or simply his imagination.

* * *

  
Robb went around the front of the bar, complaining again about his father and mother; Jon would need to limit the amount he could bitch in front of him, this was the third day in a row this week. He feigned a text, saying it was from his dean, and he _had_ to answer or else he’d be dead. He waited for Robb to enter and quickly stole around the corner, just for a moment’s pace.

And maybe to at least check his texts and emails or sneak a peek at his doggy camera. He brought it up and was pleased to see Ghost had _not_ torn apart the living room since he’d last said bye to him. He knew that seven-mile run would knock out the beast. He shoved his phone in his pocket, but the scent of cigarette smoke—lemon flavored?—caught his senses.

He had quit smoking five years ago, but occasionally smoked his Juul, when he was stressed. Plus it was quite literally a drug and he was drawn to it, wandering around the corner and to the back of the Lone Wolf, finding Dany sitting on the stoop, a Juul cartridge in her mouth, and her head in her hand.

It was the tears she was sniffling back that brought him rushing to her. “Are you alright?” he asked, kneeling and placing a hand on her knee. “Dany?”

“Oh bollocks.” She wiped her eyes on the edge of her shirt sleeve. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was making so much noise.”

“You weren’t, I just…” He nodded to the Juul. “I smelled it. Lemon?”

“Um, yeah, sometimes it just makes me…” She sighed. “It’s a bad habit.” She flicked it off, holding it in her hand tightly. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a knot today, rather than her braids or left in the complicated half-up/half-down styles she favored. She took a deep breath, peering up. “Sorry, I…I’ll see you inside.”

Jon knew when he was being dismissed, and he didn’t like it. He remained crouching, fingertips digging a little harder into her knee to keep her sitting. She glanced at his hand and to him, curious. He released the pressure, furrowing his brow. “Come off it Dany, you’ve listened to be bitch long enough. It’s my turn.” He smiled again, trying to seem sympathetic. “What’s wrong?”

Dany drew her lower lip in under her top two teeth, worrying it a moment. She fiddled with the cartridge in her fingers and sighed hard. “Well…it’s…it’s my brother. I just…” She looked away again, sighing hard. “I came North for a change of scenery, to…to get away.”

“I thought as much,” he murmured. Davos had a way of collecting the wayward souls. If it wasn’t him, it was his friend Gendry, or even his cousin Arya. Or Tormund. He didn’t press her; she hadn’t wanted to talk about it over the last several months.

Until now she did, spilling forth. “My name is…” she hesitated. Chewed on tehw ord a moment. Sighed. “Daenerys Targaryen.” _Oh_ , he thought immediately, keeping his face still. She snorted. “Well you’re the first person who hasn’t reacted at that. I can’t believe more people didn’t figure it.”

It was entirely possible they did, but then again, many Northerners and especially The Lone Wolf’s clientele didn’t quite think of anything beyond their own narrow world. “I’m sorry about your family,” he whispered, unsure what to say. He moved from kneeling in front of her to sit beside her on the stoop. Site of many of his own moments of sorrow. He kept his hand over her knee, comforting. She dropped her hand to it, squeezing lightly.

She smiled shakily. “Thank you. It’s been a couple years, but the accident still feels fresh.”

“It never really leaves us.”

Her head cocked a little; one of her earrings was missing a gem, he noticed. Little silver hoops with red stones. There was a line of them up her left ear, which he thought was pretty cool looking, especially when she wore a metal thing around it that looked like a snarling dragon. “Who did you lose?” she whispered. She frowned. “You never mentioned…”

“My mum. Riding accident.” He swallowed hard. “It’s been a long time. I was ten. Ned took me in. Robb’s dad, my uncle.”

“I’m sorry.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Inside the bar he could hear music, the play-by-plays from sportscasters, and the occasional shout from Tormund. It was dark around them, the evening late and she probably needed to be inside. He moved his hand from her knee, to drape over his. Her hand darted out, squeezing his wrist lightly. “My living brother, Viserys…he’s…” She huffed, annoyed. “I was upset because he keeps trying to go after my share of the inheritance, you see…” She nibbled her bottom lip again. It was a cute trait she had, along with curling a strand of her hair around the tip of her index finger he’d come to associate with her when she got nervous or was struggling to figure something out.

He didn’t want to hear anything if she didn’t want to share, so he told her so, but she chuckled, keeping her hand on his wrist. “No it’s alright, I think I _need_ to tell someone and well Jon Snow, you’re the only one in this province I think…I think wouldn’t just blow me off.” She smirked. “You Northerners can be a bit boorish.”

He winced. “Sorry.”

“Not you though.” She turned a little to him. “My dad died when I was a baby, I enver met him. They say that’s a good thing. Anyways, his cut split it all between Rhae, Vis, mum, and I. Then when Mum and Rhae died in the accident…” She ducked her head, whispering. “They’d changed the will. Vis was showing he couldn’t handle money well. The company went into trust, but they left their shares, their trusts, everything to me. Vis got a couple cars, but that’s it.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “So um, actually I’m here to just get away but…”

He lifted his brows, waiting. She’d already told him she wasn’t “just Dany” but a millionaire heiress of one of Westeros’s largest energy corporations—Balerion Glass and Stone—they made everything from fuel to computer chips. “Aye? What else?”

The glow from the overhead light cast down on them highlighetned her darkening cheeks. “I bought the bar,” she mumbled.

 _He was certainly not expecting that._ “What?” he exclaimed.

She looked chagrined. “Davos worked for us, years ago, and he told my brother if he ever wanted to get into the alcohol business, let him know. Rhae owned half the bar. Davos sold me the other half when I asked if I could hang out up here. I’m kind of learning the way of it…bottom up. It was how Rhae did business.” She hesitated. “Please don’t hold it against me.”

He frowned, saying nothing. She leaned towards him, eager, apologetic. “I’m really sorry. I just didn’t want people to treat me differently and well…like you said…Northerners keep to themselves. They let me be. Save for some grabby hands on my arse, but you know what happens to them.” _Aye, they almost lose a few fingers, rightfully so._ Jon continued to say nothing, eyes narrowed. She squeezed his wrist tight. “Please Jon, don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Oh.” Relieved, she exhaled. “Good.” She got up to her feet and moved to go inside. “Come on, I’ll get you a whiskey.”

He remained sitting, pondering something. She tugged open the door and gazed down again. “Are you…are you upset?”

“No.” He got up, dusting off his jeans. He smirked, taking the door from her. “Just annoyed that I’ve been overtipping you this whole time.”

She giggled. “I give them to Tormund.”

“Alright, now I’m mad.” He grinned, stepping into the bar after her. She hung her jacket on a peg in the office and he went to his usual spot, where Robb was waiting, livid that he’d been outside the entire time.

He ignored Robb, smiling at Dany here and there throughout the night. There was an obvious shift of energy between them. She returned his smiles, filled his drink, and carried on like nothing had changed. He frowned; was he the only one who noticed? He listened to Robb, eventually getting up to challenge him at darts, hoping that would shut up his cousin. It didn’t; if anything made him more vocal because he was losing.

 _Maybe we’re just meant to be bartender and local_ , he deduced, towards the end of the evening. He wouldn’t push it. He didn’t want to chase her away.

It would be better if he just kept things the same.

Aye, he decided, that would be best.

Even if it sucked.

* * *

  
“Jon I’m sick of this shit. It’s been months. _Months_.”

“So?” He kicked a melting clump of snow. The rest of the realm was practically into summer, but in the North, winter tended to last forever. They were just getting into their spring, before it would be winter again. He dug his fingers into his palms, shoved into his pockets.

“I mean, seriously, _nine months_ , if someone got knocked up the night you two met, they’d be having the baby now.”

“Crude Robb.” He rolled his eyes. “But good to know you know how long a pregnancy lasts.”

Robb scowled. “I have two kids, I’ll have you know.”

“Aye, I know, so why aren’t you with them and are with me?”

“They’re with Olenna for the week. She’s already threatening to _return_ them, like they’re a dress she didn’t care for.” He sighed. “Margaery said we could have some couple time, but she took the night to go hang with girlfriends. So I’m here with you.”

“Lucky me,” he dryly responded.

They arrived at the pub, entering and assailed immediately with the stifling warmth, the smell of peanut mix, and spilled ale. And sweaty Northerners. “Have to give it to her, she’s put up with our gross lot this long, guess she’s a keeper,” Robb chuckled, slapping his shoulder, both of them taking in the sight of Daenerys, speaking with Jorah and Jeor Mormont. He pushed him towards the bar. “Go on. Just ask her out.”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin it.” It was becoming less and less an argument. As the weeks wore on, he realized he and Dany were actually sharing a little more here and there of each other. Just last week she’d helped him with the pesky matter of his rather psychotic ex-girlfriend who had shown up out of the blue, giving him advice on what exactly to say to her to get Ygritte out of his life for good. And seven hells it worked. Ygritte was back up in Hardhome where she belonged, terrorizing some other poor bloke.

“Well of course you will ruin it, but that’s because you’re you.” He knew his cousin was teasing, but it was not the support he needed at the moment. Robb pushed him between his shoulder blades towards the damn bar. “Ask her out. She says no, that’s it, be done with it, then you’ll know.”

He swallowed the growing dry lump in his throat. If he was going to do this, he needed liquid encouragement. He marched to the bar, took his seat, and within a minute he had his usual whiskey in front of him. “I thought you had exams? Not slaving away grading them?” Dany asked, popping over in between filling orders for a group of tourists taking over the booths. She plucked an olive into a martini glass, studying it for a second and then frowned, leaning towards him, quiet. “Two, right?”

He shook his head, conspiratorially whispering with her. “Never use even number olives in martinis.”

“Ah, that’s right, one.” She set the glass on a tray, looking to him again, eyebrows arching. Today she had on her usual necklace with the dragon tooth—he learned it was her mother’s and she got it after she died, along with her ring—but also her dragon ear cuff, which gave her the tough, no-nonsense quality he really enjoyed about her. Her shoulder muscles tenses when she lifted the heavy tray, calling for Tormund to take it. She slung a rag over her shoulder, and put a hand on her hip, waiting for him to speak. The shirt today was a black leather material and she wore black jeans. A series of red leather bracelets hung at her wrist.

He forced down the lump again, trying to drink. Robb had disappeared, thank gods, arguing with one of the Karstarks about the Wolves’ chances in the finals next year. “Um, well, exams are over…until next term.” He wanted to talk to her about a gorgeous piece they’d just received at the museum, allegedly from a Targaryen queen, maybe even Alysanne herself. Except he couldn’t. _Ask her out you dipshit._

“Dany!” someone yelled. It was Jorah Mormont.

Jon shot him a dirty look; the old man was constantly flirting with her. She smiled, apologetic. “I’ll be back.”

Except she wasn’t. It got busy and he couldn’t find the right moment to ask her, couldn’t find the right words. Robb left at some point. So did everyone else. He was the last one; even Tormund was gone. “Last call,” she teased, coming out of the back room, while he waited. He didn’t want her to go back to her flat alone, even if she’d been doing it for the last eight months perfectly fine. He used it as an excuse to stick around. She knew it too, slinging her bag over her shoulder, pushing it over to her hip. The last couple of lights on caused her eyes to twinkle, mischievous, curious. “You alright Jon? You never stick around this late. To be honest I figured you more for a guy that’s in bed by ten.”

He choked on his laugh. “Sometimes.”

Dany smiled, walking with him through the dim bar to the back door. She set the alarm, stepped outside, and locked up. They maneuvered down the alley and around to the front of the building. One in the morning gave Winterfell a strange, mystical quality. Allt he dragons on the storefronts looked alive to him. He used it for strength, turning to her, staring down. _Just do it._ “Dany,” he began.

“Jon are you dying?”

She blurted it out so fast, it threw him off balance. He coughed. “Um, no…what?”

Dany frowned, stepping so they were toe-to-toe under the streetlamp. The sign above the bar was lit up with little runner lights, twinkling over her pale face. She was concerned. “You’ve been off all evening, I was just…worried…you seem like you have terrible news to share with me.”

 _Oh bloody hell._ He scrubbed his hands over his face. “No, no I just…gods I’m so bad at this, I’ll just get it out now.” She tilted her chin down, eyes up, waiting. He closed his eyes, rushing out in a single breath. _“I-was-just-wondering-if-maybe-you-wanted-to-go-out-with-me.”_

The violet in her eyes gleamed, like flames lighting behind the irises. Her small smile pulled wide over her face, eyes crinkling, cheeks bunching. He loved when she smiled, so happy like that, her eyes disappeared. She giggled, her little cackle-like laugh, and clapped her hands together. He stared, horrified. _Is she laughing at me?_ Except then she reached for him, tugged him by the lapels of his jacket towards her and lifted to her toes, planting her lips straight on his.

_Oh._

He didn’t move, too startled to respond. The light press to his mouth with hers, the softness of her body against him…he quickly returned the kiss, gentle and soft, hand lifting to cup at her throat, stilling her to him. His other hand reached around to the small of her back, keeping her in place. _She tastes like cherries_ , he noted. It was because sometimes she’d steal a couple of the cherry garnishes throughout the night, popping them into her mouth in a way that showed she clearly had _zero_ idea what men were seeing in her.

The kiss ended, her feet dropping back to the ground with a muffled thud. He remained holding her. He didn’t want to let her go. Dany grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me.”

He laughed, relieved. “Oh gods. I thought you’d hit me.”

She giggled, swaying in place, shaking her head. “No. In fact I’ve been wondering for almost nine months.” She squinted, cheeky. “I was getting ready to recommend it as a piece of bartender advice, if you didn’t do it soon.”

“I didn’t want to upset anything,” he said, trying to defend himself. He laughed. “Although I suppose I was a bit of a wanker, taking this long.”

“Yes you were. So tell me Jon Snow, where will you take me on this date?”

He reached his arm to wrap around her, holding her close, their heads touching, and they started off down the street. “I haven’t thought that far ahead just yet, but anywhere but a bar, aye?”

“I could not agree more.”


End file.
